I stopped shaving

I wish this wasn’t such a political statement, but I almost feel ashamed to say it. It feels too vulnerable.

Maybe it’s just my prejudice, but I feel like it always evokes some form of reaction. Usually a kind of uneasiness where someone doesn’t want to admit that they see this as a radical feminist statement. 

And I get it. Shaving is so normalized that it feels weird to just let it grow and it not be a statement. It almost feels unhygienic. Showing it brings massive insecurities with it too. It feels both as an act of rebellion and indifference. 

I stopped shaving my legs about two years ago. It was a big transition for me. I was the only one in my circle. All of my friends and family are still shaving. So, even though I knew this was the right thing for me, the step felt very big. Maybe more like a leap.

That first summer rolled around and I didn’t wear something short once. No knee-length dresses, no shorts. At least not to a social function. I wasn’t ashamed, but also not comfortable with laying my hairy legs outright on the table for everyone to see. Showing it in public felt uneasy. Isn’t that crazy? I was afraid to show my body because it had hair in places it’s supposed to grow.

It took me about two years before I felt comfortable enough to show my leg hair in summer outfits. It still has its ups and downs, but most days I’m outright proud to show off my hair.

After about a year of growing out my leg hair, I extended the experiment to the rest of my body. The bush and the pits, to be specific.

I’m experimenting to find out exactly in what capacity and where I want to have hair. I want to confront myself with any lingering internalized misogyny. Sometimes I’m very uncomfortable and I make a point to ask myself why. I’m still very much trying to come to terms with being in a bathing suit when you can see some hairs poking out. Or wearing short sleeves. But feeling uncomfortable is part of it.

Right now I’m not completely growing everything out. 

My boyfriend has a beardtrimmer. Whenever I get any strong negative feelings about it, I get most of it off. But there’s always a little layer of hair left. I’m happy to report that after a couple months I find at least that little layer very normal. I no longer want to see it clean-shaven.

I want to completely condition myself to see body hair as the normal thing it is. It’s supposed to be there; for protection, for hygiene. I would like to keep it as long as it gets, but not at the cost of my own comfort. If I really don’t like how it looks, the length is annoying me or I get stinky quickly - I get the access off. 

I try to never trim it off because of social unease. Or because I’ve gotten it in my head that I’m not pretty or sexy enough. That, of course, comes with the doubt where the unease is coming from. How do you know when it's preference or when it's internalized something?

At what point is it not just preference anymore?

I’m now at the stage where I sometimes go out with my armpit bush showing. I do always think everyone is judging me. Maybe they are. I don’t know. The only person I’m sure is judging me is myself. 

There is so much lingering shame.

When I started shaving, around 12, 13, I’d shave multiple times a week. Living on a tropical island, there were a lot of tank tops and bikinis. No body hair allowed. 

At school I heard a rumour that even arm hair was a no go. So one day, I shaved both my arms. From shoulder to wrist. I had blond-ish hair and my arm hair was practically non-existent. 

Turned out, nobody else was doing it and it never caught on. Keeping my legs, pits and bush in check constantly was work enough, though. Oh, and also the stray black hairs on my body. Can’t forget to look for those every other day or risk crippling shame if I forgot.

I remember being about 15 and wanting to go swimming. I was at a camping with just my family. Getting to the water I realized I hadn’t shaved my legs. Being too embarrassed to show any form of body hair other than that on my head, I climbed into a very small toilet with a sink and shaved there. I was struggling to move any bodypart in the tiny space. But shave I must. 

That was one of the most prominent catalysts for me not to shave anymore. I can’t reasonably justify feeling like that. Feeling so embarrassed about something natural doesn’t strike with the kind of person I want to be. So when I found myself doubting my reasons for shaving, I couldn’t ignore the memory of that feeling. 

I don’t wish that kind of shame on any kid. And even though I can’t change the world, I can change myself.